


Now, Until the Moment You Die

by dicksoutforproblematiccontent



Series: No Control (Genseph torture/breeding AU) [2]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Anxiety, Body Horror, Chronic Pain, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Dissociation, Dubious Science, Escape Attempt, Flashbacks, Forced Pregnancy, Hurt No Comfort, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Pain, Panic, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Rescue Missions, Science Experiments, Torture, Unethical Experimentation, Violence, ask to tag, intersex Sephiroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25486063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicksoutforproblematiccontent/pseuds/dicksoutforproblematiccontent
Summary: How long has it been since Genesis was taken by the Shinra science department? How long has it been since he became Hojo and Hollander's plaything? How long since he's been in control of himself, of his own body?Everything seems pretty hopeless as Genesis thinks about what's been done to him- what they're still doing to him. He's a weak, hollowed out version of his former self. What can he even do?Though perhaps, there is some light at the end of the tunnel.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Genesis (implied)
Series: No Control (Genseph torture/breeding AU) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846177
Comments: 13
Kudos: 52





	Now, Until the Moment You Die

**Author's Note:**

> Before you beautiful people read this fic, please note that this is a followup fic to my earlier work, No Control. I suppose you don't HAVE to read it, but you might be a little confused if you don't.
> 
> Whatever, though. I'm not your boss!
> 
> Nobody asked for this and yet here we are. Is there any more proof that I write for nobody's sake but my own? I don't think so. I do ask that you read the tags properly before proceeding. Other than that, have fun <3
> 
> Obligatory "fiction is not the same as reality, what are you, three?" disclaimer. In other words: Don't like; don't read.
> 
> If you feel like I've missed a tag, feel free to let me know!

Genesis thought he knew what suffering was.

He’s a SOLDIER; a first class at that. He’s been to war, has slaughtered more people than he can count. He likes to think his morals are in check, but after what he’s seen, what he’s done, it’s hard to justify it as ‘for a good cause’, even under the command of a power-hungry company that has forcibly desensitized him to even the most atrocious crimes conceivable to man. He’s held hostage and been held hostage, caused suffering and been caused to suffer, mentally, physically- it’s par for the course in the career path he’s chosen. Expected. Part of SOLDIER training.

Genesis thought he knew suffering. He really did.

Deep in the bowels of Shinra’s science department, however, suffering gains a brand new definition that most wouldn’t even be able to wrap their head around. Genesis can’t remember the last time he’s been fully sober, not under the effect of some kind of drug, some kind of experimental substance. Can’t remember the last time he had full control of his body, a time where he wasn’t strapped down or chained up in some way or another.

How long has he been here? He doesn’t know.

Time has a way of losing all meaning in a place like this.

He remembers the way Sephiroth looked, on that first day, when Genesis himself was still confused and angry and willing to fight. Remembers how utterly out of it, how utterly broken the man had looked, hooked up into that machine and forced onto Genesis, both under the effects of aphrodisiacs, chained down like animals and made to-

Genesis shudders against the cold, metal wall of his cell, trying to force the memory away- but the image of Sephiroth looking like a broken doll as he was lifted up and down Genesis’ unwilling dick plagues his mind every time he so much as dares closing his eyes. Proud, powerful Sephiroth, reduced to that- he hadn’t understood at first, had gotten angry afterwards, even through the haze of hate he held for the scientists- how could Sephiroth let himself get turned into that? How could he let Hollander and Hojo do that to him? How could, how could, how could.

Genesis only wishes that he could still live in that blissful ignorance.

It’s one thing to be captured by the enemy; to have your bones broken, your blood spilled, your nails pulled and your teeth knocked out. To be in a fight to the death, to have hordes upon hordes of those who want your head coming for you on a battlefield, to kill or be killed.

It’s another to be strapped down like you’re nothing more than a common lab rat, to be fed so full of drugs until you can’t tell up from down and left from right, to be used like you’re goddamn _breeding stock._ To fall asleep and not know what part of you will be missing tomorrow. To be injected by s _omething, anything,_ only for them to want to see how it impacts you, so they take you apart and put you back together, again and again and _again_.

Piece. By. Excruciating. Piece.

Genesis doesn’t remember the last time he wasn’t in pain.

Sometimes, he wonders how Sephiroth is doing. Wonders what happened to him, after… _after_. Wonders if Sephiroth had always been intended to be used this way, judging from his anatomy- he _knew_ Sephiroth had been raised here, in Shinra, in the labs, knew he’d been through experiments that led to the SOLDIER program, slowly earned information from gaining Sephiroth’s trust, his loyalty.

A small part of him wonders if his seed took, in the end.

He doesn’t like thinking about it; doesn’t like the implications- but considering what Hojo and Hollander did to them, the way they manipulated their bodies, the way they were forced together-

A shiver goes down Genesis’ spine.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He doesn’t know where Sephiroth is, what they’re doing to him, and even if he did… what good would it do? He’s hopelessly trapped, once powerful body weakened by drugs and starvation. His mana reserves have long been emptied, even if he could get his hands on materia.

He isn’t even deemed worthy of _clothes_. They sedate him before they even try to take him from his prison, and even if he could get a weapon to fight them, he’s in no state to use it.

The metal of his cell is so cold. So uncomfortably hard against his aching body. How long has he been sitting in this position, cradled against the wall? He can’t feel his legs, so probably too long.

Or maybe he hasn’t been sitting like this for too long, and they severed his spine while he was out.

No, wait, his foot twitched when he thought about it- and it kind of hurt.

No severed spine then, but does it even matter?

He hates what has become of himself. Hates that he’s so complacent in his own suffering, at this point. Where is the prideful Genesis? The Genesis who would look destiny in the face, turn his nose up and say ‘no’ if he didn’t like it? The Genesis who was on top of the world, SOLDIER first class, able to go toe to toe with Shinra’s great silver hero?

But then, considering what the science department _did_ to said silver hero- considering that, apparently, Genesis was _born_ an experiment himself, discarded by Shinra, only to be picked up again once he was deemed useful…

Perhaps he’s always been delusional.

 _“Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul,”_ he mutters to himself, voice hoarse, “ _Pride is lost… Wings stripped away, the end is nigh.”_

He almost wants to laugh.

The end is nigh. _If only._

It’s not that he wants to die- that, at least, he’s been able to hold onto; his will to _live_. Even buried beneath all the pain, all the hopelessness, there’s still that burning anger, a vengeful fury that makes him want to scream, take out Rapier and his strongest magic and tear this entire goddamn place to the ground- but not before he gets his hands on Hojo and Hollander, not before he gets his chance to rip them apart, piece by _excruciating_ piece, until there’s nothing left but a bloody pulp that once may have vaguely looked human.

Unfortunately, it’s little more than a small ember nowadays; the last part of himself that hasn’t been totally stripped away by the torture, by the drugs. He can’t concentrate on it, not when his head is swimming with images of what’s been done to him, what’s been done to his rival, a thick fog of memories and a dull haze of confusion, disorientation, accentuated only by the constant state of throbbing pain his body is in.

Staying alive is really the best he can do- the _only_ thing he can do.

Stay alive and pray for a miracle that he knows won’t come.

He lets out a rattling breath.

He hears footsteps echoing in the distance. The wail of whatever unfortunate creature they got their hands on, this time. A piercing sound that irritates his ears, even from this far away.

SOLDIER hearing is a blessing and a curse at the same time in a place like this.

He doesn’t know how long they keep the creature there- tries counting the seconds, but his foggy brain can’t concentrate on it, loses track almost as soon as he starts. He tries again, then another time, just to distract himself from the increasing volume of the wails.

By the time he gives up, he can’t hear the creature anymore, but the footsteps of the people working in this wretched place are as clear as ever, followed by the low mechanical hiss and heavy _thumps_ of a robot.

Coming _closer._

He lets out a low whine before he can stop himself, curling in tighter on himself; like he’s a child who thinks that if he can’t see them, they can’t see him. It’s pathetic, pathetic, absolutely pathetic- but he’s so tired, he doesn’t _want_ to be poked at again, to be taken apart and put together-

There’s a small creaking sound, followed quickly by the impact of something sharp. It stings, emptying its contents into his body- he tries to fight the expected numbness of his muscles, the forced relaxation that makes him pliant and easy to manipulate-

But soon enough, the drug takes its effect- his limbs feeling heavy, thinking becoming even harder than before as his body sags like a sad sack of potatoes.

Completely helpless to resist as he’s picked up, loaded up like cargo by a machine.

From one cage into another.

If the scientists taking him are talking to- or rather, _about_ him, he wouldn’t know. He can’t comprehend them, their words garbled and too slow and then too fast for his brain to make any sense of, like they’re speaking a completely different language even when he’s sure they’re _not._

He’s so tired. It’s like he’s feeling everything his body feels secondhand; the throbbing pain of- he _thinks_ \- being manhandled into position. Blurry shapes in his eyes of (maybe) people in white coats. Bright light. The droning of machinery around him, slowly drowning out the voices. There’s a sensation- he thinks he’s in more pain now, but he’s not sure anymore. Everything is getting farther and farther away-

Until everything

Fades

To

Black.

* * *

The next time Genesis wakes up, there’s chaos around him.

It’s a gradual thing- he’s not actually sure what’s happening, just that there’s yelling and shouting and people running around. Gunfire?

A monitor next to him sparks with electricity. He thinks there might be blood splattered against it- but his vision is too blurry, still too much under the influence of the drug inside of him.

He tries to move- hisses in pain, his chest hurts so much even with his dulled senses. His arms wont obey him, so the best he can manage is lifting his head and a small part of his upper body, blinking his eyes and looking around sluggishly, trying to make sense of the situation- before he’s pushed back down by a scientist. There’s angry words- cursing, he recognizes now- before there’s something pushed into his face, hard and metal; the smell of gunpowder or strong on it, and it takes his foggy mind a moment to recognize the distinct click of a gun being cocked-

There’s a another shout, a blurry movement above him, a distinct _thunk,_ and then the gun is gone from his face, as well as the scientist. In their place is now another person- he’s pretty sure it’s not a robot, at least- dark blue clothes, bulky, a sword? His mind itches with familiarity, even if it’s still too numb to really recognize anyone. The familiar-not-familiar person mutters something he can’t quite make out, touching Genesis’ face, so gently, so kindly, it makes Genesis’ breath hitch because he doesn’t know what it means, can’t figure it out-

The familiar tingle of magic washes over him, filling his entire being with a soothing sensation-

Then everything comes rushing back to him at _once._

He gasps for breath as suddenly, every sensation is crystal clear; the cold metal of the table beneath him, the lingering ache of a recent experiment, the way his hair sticks to his face, distinct taste and smell of blood on him, his own heart beating loudly in his chest.

He blinks furiously, grits his teeth as the world slowly comes back into focus for his blurry eyes, trying to get a proper look at the person- no, _man-_ hovering above him, black hair and sideburns, days-old stubble on that chiseled jaw-

 _Angeal_.

“Genesis,” the other man says, voice mostly firm but there’s a hint of anxiety- “Genesis, please, can you understand me?”

Genesis whines- this is a dream, he has to be dreaming, there’s no way- but there’s that small part of him, that small ember that hopes, prays-

“Angeal,” he forces out, and he can’t help the way his voice trembles, “I’m- You’re- _Angeal_ -“

“It’s me- I’m here, I’m here.” Angeal looks so concerned, almost like he wants to cry. “I cast cure and esuna but- god, what did they _do_ to you, Gen?”

 _You don’t want to know._ Genesis thinks. _You don’t want to know._

He tries to answer, but all that comes out is a pitiful, cut-off whimper.

Alarms blare. There’s the _thump thump thump_ of boots hitting the floor, troops being mobilized. Angeal’s gaze flits to the door, before he shoots into action.

“Let’s get you out of here.” Angeal grunts as he fiddles with the mechanism of the cuffs holding Genesis down, forces them open. “We don’t have much time.”

Genesis’ muscles ache as he sits upright, but he forces himself to ignore it as he swings his legs over the table, wincing at how wobbly they feel as he tries to stand, muscles completely atrophied by disuse. He was never going to make it very far without help, he’s known that for a while now, but he didn’t realize just _how bad_ he’d gotten.

There’s no time to think about it. Angeal throws a lab coat around his shoulders- _clothes_ , Genesis had almost forgotten he was naked- before Angeal realizes that Genesis is not going to be able to keep up if they run.

Genesis doesn’t even yelp as Angeal picks him up, throws him over his shoulder, carefully avoiding the Buster Sword, before running; it’s a testament to how used he’d gotten to being dragged around like he wasn’t a person. Not that he can even think about complaining, because Angeal is here and he hasn’t woken up yet and he’s still in pain so this can’t be a dream, this is real, this is real and Angeal is here to help him, to get him out. Angeal’s helping him to freedom, going against Shinra’s wishes just for Genesis-

Just for Genesis?

An image flits through his mind- and his breath catches.

_Sephiroth._

Does Angeal know Sephiroth is here? Actually- is _Sephiroth_ here? But if he is, does Angeal know? If he knows, is he just- _ignoring_ that Sephiroth’s here? If not, should he tell Angeal? The alarm hasn’t gone away, the troopers are coming at them rapidly as Angeal speeds through corridor after corridor, hears them closing in on them- is there even time? Would Sephiroth be in any s _tate_ to be saved?

Would it even be _worth_ it to risk it?

Genesis isn’t a saint; far from it, in fact. He doesn’t want to be caught again- doesn’t want to go back to that cell, that miserable existence of only being half-aware of anything. To be a plaything for these torturers, to do with as they please-

Sephiroth’s vacant expression, tangled hair and abused body flit into his mind’s eye- something similar to guilt and worry crop up his throat- and he can’t, he can’t, not with good consciousness, not when he _knows_ -

“’Geal-“ he forces himself to speak, “An-Angeal, we have to help Sephiroth.”

Angeal’s breath catches, his steps faltering for a moment- but he doesn’t stop running, speeding ahead, taking turns left and right. He doesn’t answer Genesis, doesn’t even acknowledge that he said anything.

“Angeal, please,” Genesis tries again, weakly thumping his fists against Angeal’s back, “Sephiroth, we have to- he’s-“

“Taken care of,” Angeal finally replies, skidding to a halt in the middle of a seemingly random corridor. “Sephiroth’s going to be fine, Genesis. I promise.”

“But- Angeal-“ Genesis tries to argue, his panic rising. They’ve stopped moving, why have they stopped moving? It’s unnerving as hell, and he doesn’t know what to do, uncomfortably squirming in place. “ _Angeal-“_

Just as he’s about to speak, Angeal lifts him up- above his _head_. Genesis almost wants to scream, because oh god what is going on, what the fuck is happening-

A pair of hands hook under his shoulders, and then he’s dragged upwards.

Cold metal hits his skin before he can realize what’s going on, darkness surrounding him, only warded off by the light from the corridors below.

A _vent_.

A pair of glowing blue eyes stare at him; presumably the person who took him from Angeal’s hands. A youthful face is decorated with a forced grin- it looks more like a grimace than anything- black hair a mess of spikes. There’s a sense of familiarity, but Genesis can’t quite put his finger on it.

The realization Angeal didn’t come alone to save him is more startling than he’d like to admit.

The man in question is quick to hoist himself up after Genesis, his bigger bulk making it more difficult to get in, but not impossible. He’s a SOLDIER, after all.

Angeal and the other SOLDIER are quick to reattach the grate that’s supposed to cover the hole, covering their tracks. It’s not perfect, and if one were to look closer, they’d notice the grate had been removed and then put back in place- it makes Genesis a bit nervous, but it’ll have to do.

The SOLDIER whom Genesis still can’t find a name for makes a gesture to follow, and Angeal motions for Genesis to crawl in front of him, but behind the other SOLDIER. Genesis is quick to obey as best as he can. Even crawling is an absolute chore for his weakened body, but he forces himself forward either way.

It’s only after they’ve crawled some distance away from where they entered, that Angeal speaks up.

“Sephiroth?” He asks, voice low.

“Up ahead,” the other SOLDIER replies quickly. “He’s in… bad condition. It’s really not pretty. I-“

“Later, Zack.” Angeal is quick to silence the SOLDIER- Zack, apparently. The name rings a bell, but Genesis can’t bring himself to focus on it right now, more worried about the implications of Zack’s words.

He suppresses a shudder, and continues forward in silence.

He slowly becomes aware of the silhouette of a body in the distance, curled up in the middle of the vent. It’s a little hard to see with Zack in front of him, but once he gets close enough, there’s no mistaking those glowing, cat-green eyes.

“Sephiroth.” Zack mutters when they reach him, causing the body to jerk slightly, a hitching breath. “Sephiroth, we’re going to need you to move forward, okay? I’ll tell you where to go, just follow my voice.”

There’s a low sound of agreement- or is it distress?- but then the body- _Sephiroth’s_ body- slowly unfurls. Genesis can’t make out much more than that, the vent too dark to see anything other than the shadow of movement here and there, but Zack starts crawling again, so Genesis is quick to follow.

Bit by bit, they continue onward, with the occasional instruction from Zack telling Sephiroth to follow a certain direction. Alarms are still blaring in the distance, but they’re gradually getting further and further away. It doesn’t help in calming Genesis’ anxiety like it should, a feeling of foreboding making his heart beat faster in his chest. He tries to keep his breathing under control, tries to empty his mind and focus only on the movements he needs to make, but it’s getting harder and harder, dark walls closing in on him-

It’s a miracle he hasn’t exploded with panic by the time they reach a source of light; an _exit_.

“Almost there now,” Angeal whispers behind him, “just a little further. Keep going.”

The vent widens at the end; helps keep Genesis’ panic at bay, now that they’re not in such a small space anymore- as well as allowing Zack to crawl past Sephiroth and fiddle with the grate trapping them.

The light, and the lack of Zack in front of him, finally allows Genesis to take a proper _look_ at Sephiroth.

Nausea rolls in his stomach at the sight.

His hair is a mess, the once striking silver caked with blood and other substances Genesis doesn’t want to name. His cheeks are hollow; more hollow than Genesis remembers, even from their time… _together_ in the labs, and he knew Sephiroth had lost muscle, but at this points his arms are so thin it’s a miracle he was even able to move forward. His skin is an unhealthy pale shade, his eyes dull and sunken in; if he weren’t breathing, Genesis could’ve mistaken him for a _corpse._

Worst of all, though, the thing that makes Genesis’ entire skin crawl, taste bile in his throat, is Sephiroth’s _stomach_.

It’s hidden under a lab coat similar to the one Genesis is wearing; but it can’t hide the protruding _balloon-like_ shape it’s taken, almost like something is ready to burst from Sephiroth’s stomach like that one scene in that horror movie they watched, that one time-

He wants to throw up.

“Sephiroth,” his voice shakes as he reaches out for the man, “I’m- Shit, Sephiroth, I’m _so sorry_ -“

Sephiroth glances at him with dull, distant eyes, letting out a shuddering sigh as Genesis touches his shoulder, before looking away again.

He doesn’t reply.

“It’s not your fault, Genesis.” Angeal whispers at him. “You couldn’t have done anything about it.”

Genesis wants to scream, wants to yell that yes- yes it _is_ his fault. It’s _his seed_ that was used to incubate Sephiroth, it’s _his spawn_ that’s growing inside. He should’ve paid more attention, should’ve been more concerned, shouldn’t have allowed himself to get _taken_ by them-

His thoughts are interrupted when there’s a metallic _clang_ of the grate falling out of the vent, and a small victory noise from Zack, who turns around with a thumbs up.

“Freedom’s in sight, everyone. The alleyway’s empty.”

“Let’s move quickly, then.” Angeal says.

Zack’s the first to tumble out of the vent, reaching inside to help Sephiroth, who follows as quickly as his body allows him to. Genesis barely even waits until Sephiroth is gone from the entrance before he’s scuttling after him, ignoring his protesting muscles and aching body as he emerges into one of Midgar’s many, many alleyways.

He could cry as he takes his first breath of (relatively) fresh air in _months,_ stretching out, reaching towards the sky-

And then his legs collapse under him.

Hitting the ground is painful, especially for his battered body, but he can’t help but laugh as he feels _stone_ , and not the endless metal of the laboratories.

He’s picked up by Angeal, who gives him a strange look, but doesn’t comment any further.

“We’re not out of the woods just yet,” Angeal says, adjusting Genesis, “We’re still too close by the tower, and up on the plate like this, it’s only a matter of time before we’re found. We need to move. Now.”

The words are sobering, and Genesis doesn’t protest when Angeal hands him over to Zack, allowing the younger to throw him over his shoulder like Angeal had done earlier. The man is quick to pick up Sephiroth after that, careful not to jostle his stomach too much as he holds him bridal style; Genesis almost wants to say something about it, but, in the end, decides against it.

Angeal and Zack take off in a run, hurrying as fast they can while each carrying a mostly-helpless body. The sounds of the main street aren’t far off, chattering voices of civilians who have no idea about anything whatsoever reach his ears- but there’s also the distant sound of Shinra-issued military boots, a stampede of infantrymen who are, no doubt, looking for them.

Genesis shudders a little, panic rising once more in his chest. If Zack notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

The thumps of boots gets louder, closing in on them, and Genesis shuts his eyes, taking a shaky breath.

All he can do is hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: @Foxyinferno321


End file.
